


The Naked Truth

by Miss M (missm)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Javert Survives, Banter, Bondage, Character Death Fix, Community: makinghugospin, Established Relationship, Kink Meme, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm/pseuds/Miss%20M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Valjean and Javert play a game, Valjean's ideas of punishment are somewhat different from what Javert expected, and confessions are made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Naked Truth

**Author's Note:**

> From a kinkmeme prompt: "Valjean and Javert (established relationship, post-barricade au) play a game of chess with the agreement that the winner gets to dominate/punish the loser for the night." (Slightly edited from the kinkmeme version, though the changes are small.)

Javert noticed the chess set one evening as they were seated in front of the fire after dinner, legs stretched out in front of them, Valjean reading a book and Javert watching him from his own armchair. The house was silent, the only sounds coming from the crackling fire and Valjean's occasional turn of the page, and Javert once again found himself struck by the strangeness of it: that peace – happiness, even – should have come to him at last, in this house, with this man; that as he'd yielded at the end of his chase, ready to solve his dilemma by turning his back on it, Valjean had been the one to find him on the bridge, and catch him, and not let him go.

Emotion swelled in his chest, sudden and strange; he tore his eyes away from Valjean and looked about the room. It was becoming familiar to him, even if, distrustful of Fate, he did not yet dare call it home in his thoughts. His gaze slid over the furniture, the windows, the cupboards, and then it fell, with surprised interest, on a chess set on the top of one of the shelves.

"Do you play chess?" he asked, nodding towards it.

Valjean lowered his book and looked towards the shelf. "Not for years," he said, "not since Cosette grew bored of it." He smiled. "Would you care for a game?"

Javert found himself starting to grin. Indeed, he would. True enough, Valjean had kept slipping out of his grasp during all those years; true enough, Valjean had even manage to wrestle Javert's own death from him – and Javert could admit it to himself, now, that he would have it no other way – but here was a game Javert was guaranteed to win. After all, Valjean's amazing strength would be of no use to him here.

"I'd enjoy that," he said, then paused deliberately. "And what should be the prize?"

Valjean raised an eyebrow. "What would you suggest?"

They looked at each other, as if sizing one another up. Then Javert's grin widened.

"I suggest," he said, "that whoever wins shall be the other's master for the rest of the evening, and that the loser must submit to his every wish."

Valjean's own smile widened in response, his eyes glittering. Javert, catching the look in them, felt his breath hitch. He reminded himself sternly to concentrate.

They shook hands to seal the deal.

 

**

 

An hour and a half later, Javert was beginning to realise this might not be as easy as he had thought.

"Pray tell," he muttered peevishly as Valjean captured one of his rooks, "where does a convict learn to play chess? Is this another one of your saintly miracles?"

"I used to play chess with the doctor in Montreuil," Valjean said mildly, removing the fallen piece. "You might remember him."

"Indeed." Javert scowled at the board. "Rather good-looking fellow, wasn't he?"

Valjean laughed. "Is that jealousy I detect in your voice, Javert? You can rest assured, the good doctor and I never did anything beyond playing a game of chess now and then." He paused, then added innocently: "He was an excellent teacher, though."

"Do not flatter yourself, sir." Javert squinted towards Valjean's currently unprotected knight. Perhaps there was an opening... "I can assure you that I as a police inspector had more important business to attend to than worrying about what sordid affairs the mayor might indulge in." He captured the knight and smiled triumphantly. "In fact, I did not concern myself with any such affairs before I came here to live with you. I believe you have corrupted me, Valjean."

"Is that so?" Valjean said, considering the board. "Given your eagerness that first time, one might think you had been dreaming of it long before; in fact, you practically – "

"Let us concentrate at the task on hand, shall we?" Javert bit him off. He was not yet comfortable with dragging these things out in the open, with transforming the deeds of dark nights and dark bedrooms into open and naked words; he would be content with moments like this, when their eyes snapped together and locked, heat moving between them, unspoken.

At length, Valjean looked back down onto the board. He moved his bishop – and damn it all, why hadn't Javert seen that one coming? – and looked up again. "Check," he said.

Javert stared at the board, a sinking feeling in his stomach. This was not going according to plan at all. Would he really have to live this down – he, a former policeman, losing a game of strategy to an ex-convict?

He moved his queen. Valjean's bishop followed.

"Check."

Javert swallowed. He tried a last, desperate move with his remaining rook.

"Checkmate," Valjean said. And smiled.

 

**

 

Seated on the bed in Valjean's bedroom – their bedroom, as it was now, though he scarcely permitted himself to think of it as such – Javert reminded himself that Valjean was unlikely to inflict any sort of grave humiliation upon him. If he'd wished to take his revenge for Toulon and the years that followed, he would have done so already. During the nights they'd spent together – fumbling at first, then more confident as they had grown accustomed to each other's bodies – Valjean had never hurt him or been rough with him in any way. There was force in his grasp and in his movements, but Javert would hardly have it any other way; he'd arch under those strong hands and spread his legs and yield willingly.

The thought made his face grow hot and he shifted on the bed. Apart from his wounded pride, there truly was no great harm in having lost the game: surely Valjean already knew how much Javert was in his power; surely he would not demand anything from him tonight that he couldn't have any other night. As for himself, Javert was not certain what he would have done with Valjean if the outcome had been different. Dragging him off to prison was no longer an option, after all... but he would certainly have come up with _something_. Well, better save those possibilities for the next time.

The door opened and Valjean came in, carrying a bundle of something in his hands. "Well, then," he said with a smile Javert found bit more smug than strictly necessary.

"Indeed," said Javert, leaning back on the bed a bit provocatively. He was starting almost to look forward to this, in spite of himself. "What devilish punishment have you been planning for me?"

Valjean eyed him for a moment without comment. "I was thinking we could go out and give alms," he said at length.

Javert let his jaw drop. "You _wouldn't_ ," he said.

"No," Valjean agreed, grinning back at him. "Not tonight. Perhaps the next time."

"What makes you think there will be a next time?" Javert demanded, conscious both of Valjean's eyes on him and of how the comment mirrored his earlier thoughts. He leaned back a little more, spreading his knees. "Surely tonight was pure luck."

"If it pleases you to think so," Valjean said dryly. He came closer to the bed and looked down at Javert. "But for the moment, I believe you will submit to my every wish. So my first wish is this: undress."

Javert, having no desire to rebel against this order, quickly set out to remove his clothes. He was very much aware that Valjean's gaze followed his every move; by the time Javert was done, his arousal was plain for them both to see.

Valjean smiled, but did not touch him. "Now lie back on the bed," he said, "close to the headboard, with your arms spread," and Javert did so.

The bundle Valjean had brought with him turned out to be a collection of silk ties. "Rather more comfortable than handcuffs, I should think," he remarked while meticulously tying Javert's wrists to the headboard, one after the other. Javert, his mouth dry and his eyes wide, did not contradict him.

"So." Valjean stood back from the bed and looked at his handiwork. He was still dressed, but his eyes were dark and Javert would be damned if there was not a bulge in his trousers. "What next?"

"What next?" Javert echoed, squirming against the bed. "You are my master tonight, aren't you? I'm yours to command."

"Yes," said Valjean, eyes taking in every inch of Javert, or so it seemed. "And therefore my first command is this: tell me what you want me to do."

"Ah." Javert frowned. This was not quite as expected; he'd rather trusted Valjean to take matters into his own hands, leaving Javert with no choice but to submit to his wishes. But rules were rules, and he must obey – and there was certainly no question as to what he wanted. "Well... I'd like you to take off your clothes."

Valjean smiled – a smile that made Javert swallow – and lifted his hands to his collar, his eyes never leaving Javert's.

When he was naked, he came closer to the bed, but still without touching Javert. "Tell me what you would like me to do now," he murmured.

Javert shook with desire and irritation. Wasn't it obvious what he wanted? But apparently Valjean wanted him to admit it in so many words. "Touch me," he ground out. "If you please."

"How do you want me to touch you, Javert?" Valjean's lips were maddeningly close to his ear, still not touching. "With my hands? My lips? Both?"

"Both." Javert's voice was strangled. "As much as possible. Please. I need..."

Valjean's large hand was on his chest, caressing one of his nipples, then the other. Javert melted into the touch, straining against his ropes, and Valjean laughed.

"Yes?" he said encouragingly, leaning in to kiss Javert's temple. "What do you need, Javert?"

"You." There it was, the naked truth, mumbled hastily in a voice hoarse with desire. "Your hands and your mouth and your... Please, I need you."

Valjean's mouth found his. They kissed for several long, heated seconds as Valjean's hand wandered downwards, touching lightly along Javert's stomach and thighs, and then finally, _finally_ curling softly around his swollen flesh.

"How do you need me?" he murmured into Javert's mouth. "I will be happy to give it to you – all of it. But I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you."

This was the punishment, then: making him say those words, making it impossible, once and for all, to pretend that he was submitting to Valjean's strength, rather than giving himself freely. With that realisation a great relief shuddered through him – not the relief of his flesh, but of his heart and his mind, a relief he hadn't even known he'd needed – and he arched his back and kissed Valjean with all the force that was in him, as much as the ropes would permit.

"I need you in me," he whispered against Valjean's lips. "I need you to want me and take me and possess me and claim me for yours; I need you to catch me and hold me and not let me go. _Please_ , Jean..." And he spread his legs with a moan and bucked his hips upward into Valjean's touch.

Valjean kissed him again, hotly, hungrily. He moved away a little, fishing for something close by the bed – Javert realised it must be the bottle of oil, and he groaned with impatience and let his head fall backwards.

A finger slid inside him, then two – then the hand paused, and Valjean looked at him. Javert met his eyes. "What?" he demanded.

"Nothing. Nothing," Valjean said with a smile, but he kept looking at Javert for a few moments more, until Javert began to think this was another part of the punishment: to make him wriggle and cry out and beg. Well, so be it; he didn't care anymore if he sounded desperate or needy. "Please get on with it, then," he snapped, and Valjean gave a quick nod and withdrew his hand.

Javert was quite happy his legs weren't tied, as he was now at liberty to hitch them up around Valjean's waist and clench his thighs. "Inside me, now," he implored, and Valjean's mouth found his, and his warm hands gripped around Javert's buttocks, and he slid into Javert with unbearable gentleness.

It was almost too much, and yet not enough; he wanted more force, more strength, more of _everything_ , but he now knew that Valjean would not give it to him, not tonight, unless he asked. With difficulty he tore his mouth away from Valjean's and gasped in his ear: "If I ask you to take me hard now, as hard as never before, will you do it?"

Valjean trembled against him; it took a few moments before he lifted his head and looked Javert in the eye. "If you ask me," he said, his voice hoarse, "I will do it."

"Then I ask it of you," said Javert, pressing his lips against Valjean's cheek. "No, I _beg_ it of you – do it."

Valjean's mouth found his again, and he moved, hard now, with the relentless strength of a man who could lift a horse. Javert tightened his legs around him, pushing back against the thrusts; the whole world was movement and ache and a pleasure so intense his skin felt like it was about to burst. "God," he panted, his breathing quick and shallow. "God, God, you're, Jean, I'm –"

A large hand snaked in between their bodies to grip his length, tugging at it – had he been asking for that? He couldn't remember anything anymore – and he found himself close, so close, he would soar, he would fall –

"I'm yours," he gasped, bucking wildly against Valjean, against the bonds that held his arms. "I'm yours, always!"

"Javert," Valjean groaned, and hearing his name spoken like that, with such rawness, such hunger, pulled him free, and he cried out, shaking, and let himself go. From somewhere beyond the thundering of blood in his ears he heard his name again, moaned out as Valjean found his own relief, and he soared, and he soared, and he soared, until he slumped down, spent and exhausted, thousands of tiny stars glittering behind his eyes.

At length, he opened his eyes. Valjean lay on top of him, face buried against Javert's shoulder. Their heavy breathing was the only sound in the room.

Javert turned his face towards Valjean's ear, trying to keep his voice steady. "Would you mind untying me?"

A deep breath, and then Valjean lifted himself up, pulling out and away from him. Some moments later, Javert's wrists was loosened. He touched them tentatively – he must have been straining against his bonds quite fiercely, judging from the marks, but he had not even noticed.

Valjean sat down on the edge of the bed. They looked at each other for some long seconds, neither knowing what to say. Then Javert shifted sideways on the bed, and after a moment, Valjean climbed in beside him. He held out his arm, his eyes asking a silent question.

"You are still my master this evening," Javert said, moving into the embrace and closing his eyes. "There is no need to ask."

Valjean's breath was warm against his hair. "I thought it would be clear by now that I do not wish to compel you to do anything, game or no game."

"Even so." His arms untied, he could sling one of them over Valjean's chest and press closer. It was a good way of using one's freedom. He raised his head and looked into Valjean's eyes.

"If I am bound to you," he said, setting the words free at last, "it is because I wish it. Game or no game." And he leaned in and kissed Valjean with all the firmness left in his sated body.

Judging from the way Valjean kissed him back, his words were the highest prize of all.


End file.
